


the oceans are black (the sky is too)

by gurobastard



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: A lot of Hurt, Gen, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, a little bit of comfort at the end, billy is a garbage can that is lit on fire and i care about him deeply
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:15:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25033807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gurobastard/pseuds/gurobastard
Summary: "You don't deserve this."Billy stops dead in his tracks, staring Steve down. "What did you just say?"Meeting his gaze again, Steve grimaces. "That shit he does to you. You don't deserve it, man."-Neil Hargrove has stolen a lot from Billy.(please mind the warnings !!!)
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 1
Kudos: 119





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING: descriptions of abuse, homophobic slurs, and just the general things that come with Neil Hargrove. A brief mention of alcohol at the end, doesn't go into any detail. A lot of anger from Billy.
> 
> if you would like anything else warned/tagged, please feel free to tell me !
> 
> this jumps around to both canon events and non canon events !!

Billy knows he likes boys. He's known it ever since he was nine years old, when his best friend held his hand for the first time, laying together in his friend's bedroom, huddled under blankets and giggling about nonsense stories they'd make up to see who could come out with the most ridiculous ending. He was in love with his best (his only) friend at the time, and when his friend's mother found them asleep with their hands interlocked with one another, he wasn't allowed to see him ever again. The woman he had known for his whole life spoke in a hushed voice to Billy's father when he was picked up early that day, and the ride home was too quiet. His own mother wasn't home yet, she was still at his aunt's house in hopes of clearing up the tension that had grown around them after another fight they had, and Billy felt his chest pull with each landing his father's belt made on his body. His ears rang with shouts of words he didn't even know, his throat raw from feverent promises of not being a queer, not being one of those faggots, _please_ , he sobbed, he was _sorry_.

He ignored his friend for days afterwards. Refused to even look at him during class, would run away from him when he tried to talk to him during recess. By the end of that week, Billy had what was once his best friend pinned under him as he shot a blur of angry hits, screams of those words his father slung at him ripping from his throat that still stung with the desperate promises he made.

When he was sixteen, just shy of his birthday, Billy met a nice boy with shaggy, sun bleached hair at the beach. He was a surfer, like Billy used to be, and every time he laughed or smiled at him Billy felt the same thrill he had when he was out in the waves. They both had things to hide and they could practically see it written on their skin, searing brands on their chests that were forced into hiding but still achingly showed up no matter if they wanted them to or not. They kissed under the pier, a short, quick peck before they could even stop themselves, and their faces mirrored the same type of shock. Before anything could be said, Billy heard Max's voice calling for him, and his blood ran cold. When he turned to her, she stared at them in obvious confusion, only a few yards away, before making her way back to Susan, who stood next to his father. He was looking right at him. He was too quiet on the car ride home.

The clock struck midnight on his birthday when he was handed off to the hospital staff, head bleeding profusely and his mouth tasting only of metal. Susan was still running the errands his father sent her on with Max even after the stitches, even after the flurry of questions and suspicious looks as he insisted he just fell down the stairs. The nurses didn't need to know that he lived in a one-story home.

By the time his injuries heal and they move into that small town in the outskirts of Indiana, Billy knows a boy who likes boys is a dead boy.

Max leaves her skateboard in the camaro, is in too much of a rush to get away from him after his near meltdown just moments earlier, (he still hears his shouts and threats to run those kids over and starts to feel sick) and Billy doesn't say anything about it. He picks up the thing she holds most dear as he steps out of the car, a deep rushing noise filling his ears as he places it on the ground under him and props up one heavy boot on it. One stomp and it would snap in half.

Billy knows she was only twelve when she had lead Susan and Neil over to that pier, was _just a kid_ looking for her older brother so they could go home, and Billy was also _just_ _a_ _kid_ when his father nearly killed him for being queer. It wasn't her fault as much as it wasn't his.

He breaks her board anyway.

Billy hates Steve Harrington. Hates how much he reminds him of his childhood friend, hates how much his smile makes his heart jump like the nice boy at the beach. 

Whenever they meet each other's gaze, Steve's face morphs into something more sour, and his eyes flicker away after a moment every time, as if he's afraid to look at him for too long. Billy wants to hurt Steve before his father gets the chance to hurt  _ him,  _ and he finally does when he stalks into the shabby old house looking for his stepsister, the fucking girl who caused the new welt on his face, the brat who he should be getting along with but only can look at in disdain because of his old man. 

Steve's quiet order for Billy to leave was punctuated by a press of his fingers against his chest, and it burned against that damn brand that he tried so hard to cut out of his chest. His stomach turns at the thought of everything that could've been if not for his father, and he can't help but long for it even as he throws his first punch. When he's cornered in the kitchen and he grabs blindly for something to use, he sees the last fight his mother and father had when the plate lands on Harrington's head.

Everything flashes by after that. He's vaguely aware of what he's doing, can only just register the kids around him yelling and shouting at him as his fists connect with the figure in front of him. He's not in control of his movements, he can only remember everything Neil Hargrove tore away from him, can only think about how much he hates that man who is supposed to love him, can only feel how fucking  _ hurt _ and  _ betrayed _ he is by his mother for just abandoning him to be the new punching bag.

A pinprick of pain, then a flood of fire enters him and he doesn't know where it's coming from until he grabs at his neck, pulling a syringe out from his skin. He looks over, dazed, and Max is hovering over him, her eyes wide and fresh with angry tears.

"What did you do?" His own voice sounds so far away as his vision blurs. He collapses on the floor, and he just begins to register that there were trails of paper all around him on the walls and ceiling when Max blocks his vision, nailed baseball bat in hand.

She's speaking to him, voice laced with fear and barely bridled rage, and he can only muster up a weak, "screw you", in response, before the bat is landing right between his legs. He stares down at it, his head feeling like it was filled with cement, and he hears Max's voice echoing Neil's own.

He repeats what he's had rehearsed his whole life, tells her he understands-  _ he won't do it again, he's sorry, sir-  _ in a quiet, slurred tone. His tongue is numb when Max finally backs off, and he lets his head drop back down, black filling up his vision so fast it scares him. 

For a small, short moment, he bitterly wonders what siblings are actually supposed to be like.

Billy doesn't even remember why or what happened that led him to pinning Steve to his own locker during PE, he's only aware that he's angry and Harrington is the reason why.

"Speak up, Stevie." Billy says, voice rough and projected in the slowly abandoned locker room. "Didn't quite hear what you said."

"I didn't say  _ anything _ ," Steve hisses. "Leave me the fuck  _ alone _ , Hargrove."

Leering close, Billy smiles with too many teeth. "We're just having some fun, aren't we? Just a nice little chat, one  _ amigo _ to another."

The memory of that night rushes back to the both of them, Billy's mind glazing over for a second before he forces himself to focus on the rough fabric he held bunched up in his fists rather than the heavy pressure on the back of his skull.

"Why," Steve's voice comes out cracked, broken. "Are you  _ so _ determined to hurt me?"

Billy can only stare, can only grip tighter on Steve's shirt collar and press him deeper against the lockers as his brain replays the image of the plate shattering and cutting the other's head up. 

He could ask himself the same question.

Instead of landing Steve another black eye, he lets go, backs away from him and turns his gaze away. He doesn't speak for a long while, even as he feels eyes bore into him, imploring for an answer they'll never get.

He should make a biting remark, he should say something so typically  _ him _ that Steve wouldn't ever try to question him like this again, but his throat aches and his chest burns and he can't stop himself when he starts to walk away.

Steve Harrington hates him, Billy made sure of it. If Steve hated him, he was safe. 

When his father is asleep that night, Billy silently wishes everything could be different.

Neil Hargrove steals a lot of things. Billy still remembers, clear as day, the moment he was banned from surfing, under the guise of it being because his grades were slipping. That was the first to go, then his best friend because they just  _ held hands,  _ then his  _ mother _ . She was gone in the middle of the night when he was sleeping, she didn't even say goodbye. Just a shitty rushed phone call she made from a payphone just outside of the subway station she was heading to.

To this day he doesn't know where she is. Maybe at his aunt's house, while he's all the way in the middle of Indi-fucking-ana.

He used to dream she'd come home one day, take him away too, but she never did. She never will.

Billy used to focus on the last happy memory he had with her. The seven foot wave he managed to surf, the rush he felt seeing how happy his mother was when he came bounding out of the water with the widest grin on his face. He focused on it so much the yellow of her hair was seared into his mind.

He hates everything to do with yellow now.

Billy truly feels pathetic. He's a beaten mess on Steve Harrington's porch and he can't even stop the tears that stream down his face, or the flurry of desperate explaining and pleading leaving his mouth. He knew Max had told her loser friends about his dad the day she found out where exactly Billy's worst injuries come from, and by extension they told Steve. He knew where Steve lived because he had to pick Max up from his house a few times, but she wasn't here, she was at the Byers' house spending the night with that weird girl who's always staring. He shouldn't be here, and yet there he was, blubbering out pleads for help like he was some fucking kid.

"Billy, slow down." Steve interjects, hands raised in front of him like he was calming a panicking animal. Billy doesn't miss how his heart flips at the sound of his name coming from Steve's mouth, and he definitely doesn't miss the icy cold stab that fills his body right after. "What happened? Was it..?"

Billy nods, voice caught in his throat. He hadn't done anything that time, he made sure to follow every rule they had, he didn't play his music too loud, he cleaned up after himself after dinner, and he didn't even mouth off to Susan like he usually did. He made sure to keep his face trained in a blank expression- but not  _ too _ blank- while his father was in the room, he used sir whenever they spoke, even got him the beers he asked for...Billy knew he had done everything right and that it didn't matter. It never mattered.

After his confirmation, the interaction is awkward to say the least, with Steve guiding Billy inside with hovering, uncertain hands, and Billy keeping his head down like a dog that was kicked one too many times. The lights in the Harrington's uncomfortably spacious kitchen flicker on, revealing every ugly mark made on Billy's skin and the blood dripping from a concerning amount of places to the world around them.

"...Damn." Steve speaks softly. "He fucked you up pretty badly."

Billy laughs, but it hurts and he doesn't even feel like masking anymore. "Yeah. The price of existing at my own home."

He let his head to hang down after that and wiped the stupid tears off his face, barely watching Steve in his peripheral when he went to rummage in a nearby drawer. Then, a stark white first aid kit appears in his vision along with fumbling hands.

"I know jack shit about how to use this stuff, but-" Steve clears his throat. "Let me help."

Billy wants to roll his eyes. "I can take care of myself, Harrington."

"Yeah, you clearly do a bang up job on that."

"Fuck off."

His curse rings through the walls, and there's a silence that makes him entirely too jittery afterwards. He gives a gruff excuse of going for a smoke, ignoring his own limp and finding his way to the backyard, the soft glow of the pool at least making it easier to ignore the visuals of what happened to him.

Steve is of course right behind him, his feet shifting around so much it got on Billy's nerves. He knew it was weird to be around someone after they got smacked around- jesus, he could barely handle how Max got after nights like this- but Steve could care to have a little more tact.

"Christ, you're making  _ me  _ feel nervous." Billy mumbles, plucking a cigarette from his old pack he put in his leather jacket that thankfully was left in the car and more or less shoving it between his teeth, searching his pockets for his lighter. Probably left it like the dumbass he is.

Steve is close to him again, a lighter in hand and flicking it on under the end of the stick. When it catches, Billy takes too deep of an inhale and burns through nearly half of it in one go, his whole body trembling so much he felt he would collapse soon.

Steve gives an intake of breath before pausing, almost stopping himself. Then,

"What happened?"

It's a justified, if ridiculous question. The guy who terrorizes you and your friends at school is suddenly at your doorstep in tears and panicking before cussing you out to smoke in your backyard. Steve has a right to ask. Billy has a right to not answer.

Looking up at the night sky above them, the stars seem so dim. "Nothing happened." He says.

Steve practically scoffs at that answer, Billy turning towards him with a frown. "Bullshit, you were bleeding all over my floor just a second ago-"

" _ No,  _ Harrington.  _ Nothing happened.  _ I didn't do  _ shit _ . I did  _ everything _ I fucking  _ could _ ," Billy's voice grew heated, the lump in his throat growing as his eyes burned again. "I barely looked at him, I kept my mouth shut unless I was spoken to, I even fuckin' said please and thank you to Max's mother when she offered seconds of her shit food."

Steve watches him, his expression annoyingly unreadable. Billy flicks the cigarette on the ground, crushing it under the toe of his boot and grinding it into the cement. He needed to hit something.

"I did everything I could to be a  _ respectable son _ today, and you know what I fucking got?"

"Billy-"

Turning to face Steve head on, he got right up in his face, voice dangerously low. "He kicked the shit out of me right in front of his precious Maxine, for no good fucking reason."

Steve doesn't move back, he barely even blinks. They stare each other down for far too long, and the crickets that chirped around them grate against Billy's ears.

Steve is the first to drop his eyes. "I'm sorry, Billy, I'm…really sorry."

"For what?" Billy almost laughs, taking a step back. "You're not the one calling me a fag everyday, Harrington."

"No- I-" Steve looks frustrated and he's clearly doing his best not to let it bleed into his words. "Just- You don't deserve this."

Billy stops dead in his tracks, staring Steve down. "What did you just say?"

Meeting his gaze again, Steve grimaces. "That shit he does to you, you don't deserve it, man. And I'm sorry you have to...deal with all of that or whatever."

Billy can't manage a proper response to that for a good long while, can only openly gape at him as if he grew two heads. But, as quickly as it could, his temper flares up and lights a sudden mix of anger and grief inside of him. He grabs Steve by the collar of his shirt, yanking him closer and speaking much too loudly.

"How the  _ fuck  _ can you say that? How do you even  _ know  _ I don't deserve this, after everything I've done to you? To Max? To that snot-nosed kid Max likes so goddamn much-" His anger starts to break down, his voice shaking as much as he is. "I'm a piece of shit, Harrington! I beat the shit out of Tommy just for asking about what goes on in my damn house!"

Billy starts to shove Steve back, his yells raising in volume each time his hands made contact with Steve's chest. "How can you say I don't deserve this when I nearly  _ killed _ you in front of those brats you care for so much? How can you know me and fucking say that?"

Steve is stumbling to keep his balance. He doesn't even look angry. "Billy-"

"How could you fucking think that when my own goddamn  _ mother _ left me, huh, Steve?!" Billy shouts loud enough that the crickets go dead. His ears ring and he can't stop himself from openly crying that time around. His walls crumble around him, and he doesn't know what to do, doesn't know whether to hide or if it's too late to even attempt that. It doesn't help at all that Steve is just quietly watching him, that he's too exhausted to try and figure out what his expression means, or that Steve is stepping closer to him and pulling him close in his arms.

It's a stiff, awkward gesture at best, but it's the most anyone has ever done for him since he was seven years old, and it's humiliating how much harder it makes him cry.

"It's okay," Steve's voice is quiet against the night air, more of a rumble in his chest than anything. The crickets were back, but seemingly being quieter that time around. "It's okay."

It really wasn't. Nothing was okay about Billy or how his life was leading up to be, nothing comforting about the blood they would have to clean up off the floor in the morning. But, he was tired, and Steve was warm. 

As he gently holds his trembling form, Steve runs his soft palms over his back, the thin fabric of Billy's shirt creating a distracting friction from the low throb in his ribcage. Billy allows himself to believe that maybe, just maybe things  _ were _ okay, as long as he was with Steve. Things would soon go back to normal, but until then, maybe nothing would hurt him.


	2. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short extra scene since i wanted to revisit this a bit :]
> 
> warnings for: abuse mentions and injury care

There's a weird feeling underlying the entirety of the Harrington residency and the far too pristine look of the kitchen. It seems as if no one even lives there, and it's almost distracting enough for Billy to dull down the harsh stings of Steve pressing a fresh rubbing alcohol-soaked cotton ball to his wounds. Maybe it's because he's propped up on the counter in the house of the rich asshole he's been terrorizing that he's been making more of a fuss than he would when Neil was having a go at him, the new situation disarming his usual defenses. Whatever it was, Steve still finds time to complain.

"Jesus, you can take getting knocked out by your own sister but not ointment?" Steve says, his tease light. He's unsure of where Billy's temper is at the moment, and doesn't want to set him off again with a badly timed joke. 

Billy is too tired to even pretend to get pissed off. "To be fuckin' fair, Harrington, I didn't have to see the needle go into my neck." His retort holds little bite, but he at least can muster a glare even as he leans back against the cabinets. "And you aren't the most gentle with those tweezers."

Steve drops the dirtied cotton into a nearby takeout bag with the rest of them- something Billy insisted upon rather than just letting evidence of his injuries sit in the trashcan of Steve's family home for anyone to find- and clicks the tweezers at him as if clicking his tongue. "At least I'm not making it worse."

"That would be a pretty big accomplishment." Billy snorts. "My dad would thank you."

Steve's face visibly sours at the mention of Neil. Billy notices it's not the same contempt that he usually saves for him, but makes no comment on it, silently lifting his arm for Steve to wrap a bandage around. It's too loose, and before it can be taped down, Billy waves his hands away, doing it over again himself, muttering about how Harrington was basically next to useless working with first aid.

"At least appreciate that I'm helping you!" Steve is nearly incredulous in his statement, moving over to wash his hands in the nearby kitchen sink. He keeps glancing over to the bandage on Billy's head, clearly worried about that wound the most, and Billy wants to tell him to fuck off.

Instead, he makes a vague, gruff dismissal, taping down the bandage and wishing he hadn't tried to fight back with a goddamn  _ vase _ . Susan will be very unhappy to see the shattered remains whenever she gets home with Max.

The water turns off, and Billy lets his eyes close for a moment, wanting nothing more than to go to bed. Steve insisted that he stay awake for the night, at least until they know it's not a concussion, and Billy still wants to laugh. His head has been hit harder with a surfboard, the most he'll have is a migraine.

A sharp and cold sensation on his neck jolts him, Billy staring ahead at a very concerned Steve. He almost asks him what his problem is, until he's shown the juicebox that was used to shock him.

"I have some leftover pizza I can heat up." Steve offers, Billy begrudgingly taking the juicebox and grumbling about not being a child. "It's just sausage and cheese, nothing special."

"I'm not hungry." Billy gruffs out. Steve rolls his eyes.

"You're going to be. You're getting two slices."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed, thank you for reading :] have a good day💛

**Author's Note:**

> \- the first paragraph was posted on my stranger things sideblog, billyhargay !!
> 
> \- "[...]knows a boy who likes boys is a dead boy" is a small snippet from richard siken's poems
> 
> \- the title is lyrics from tyler joseph's song "drown"
> 
> \- this was a draft from last year that i decided to post !! i apologize for any mistakes or tense weirdness, Writing Hard™
> 
> kudos and comments greatly appreciated :>
> 
> (edit: 12/3/20- fixed/changed some wording)  
>    
> (edit2: 1/24/21- added an epilogue)
> 
> _twitter: sonofwhizzer_  
>   
>  _tumblr: acedogs (main), billyhargay (stranger things)_


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